Chapter 940
“Ms. Sterling!” A reporter from the back row shouted, bypassing the moderator entirely. He didn’t point his microphone at Skye. He aimed it at the young man standing stiffly behind her. “A question for Mr. Sterling! Is it true you hold the key to the lost Sterling inheritance?”
Parker froze.
He wore a suit that fit him perfectly, courtesy of Liam’s tailor, but he wore it like a costume. The wig was gone, replaced by his own hair dyed a severe black, and he looked every inch the long-lost Maximillian Sterling — arrogant, bored, wealthy. But Skye caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. He was terrified.
A sharp pang of guilt pierced through her professional facade. Just forty-eight hours ago, Parker had been in a tactical vest, hacking a fire system to save their lives. Now he was wearing a target. She remembered the argument in the war room, Julian’s raspy voice insisting they needed a lightning rod to draw the Mastermind’s fire. “The fish only bite if the worm is in the water,” Julian had said. Skye had hated it then. She still hated it now. But Parker had agreed, his voice trembling only slightly when he said, “If it stops them from hurting my mom, I’ll do it.”
He had the script Julian had drilled into him. Chin up. Look bored. Say nothing.
Parker forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes — a brittle thing, ready to snap.
Skye stepped in front of him, cutting the reporter’s line of sight. “Mr. Sterling has just returned from a decade abroad. He requires privacy to reacclimate.” It wasn’t a request. “That concludes the briefing.”
𝖩𝘰𝘪𝘯 t𝗁е 𝗰оm𝗺𝘶ո𝘪𝗍𝘺 𝘢t 𝗀𝘢𝗹ո𝘰𝘷𝗲l𝘴.𝗰𝗼m
Security moved in, a wall of black suits, ushering Skye and Parker through the rear exit and away from the shouting press.
The underground parking garage was a concrete throat — cold, echoing, thick with exhaust fumes and the damp chill of the harbor.
“I almost threw up,” Parker whispered, tugging at his collar. “Did you see that guy? He looked like he wanted to eat me.”
“He wanted a headline, Parker. You gave him a mystery. That’s better,” Skye said, though her own stomach was churning. She scanned the shadows. Concrete pillars. Parked cars. Blind spots.
Alistair was waiting by the armored SUV, the engine idling with a low, predatory rumble. He pulled open the rear door. “Get in. Fast.”
Parker scrambled into the backseat. Skye followed — but before Alistair could close the door, tires shrieked.
A black SUV, lights off, surged from behind a pillar. It didn’t brake. It accelerated, aimed directly at the open door where Parker sat.
“Down!” Alistair didn’t shout — he roared.
He didn’t jump into the driver’s seat. He threw himself into the back, shoving Skye and Parker deep into the footwell and covering them with his own body.
Crunch.
The impact wasn’t metal on metal — it was metal on flesh and door frame. The attacking car clipped the open door, bending it backward with a sound like a screaming animal. Glass exploded, showering the interior.
Alistair grunted. A sharp, wet sound.
The black SUV didn’t stop. It screeched around the concrete curve and vanished up the ramp, the hit-and-run executed with military precision.
Silence rushed back in, ringing in Skye’s ears.
.